The alley off Lima’s Jirón de la Union looked like a scene from the past. Shayla spotted the sign in the hodgepodge of others, hand-lettered and sun-bleached: Sellos Únicos. Souvenirs del Alma.
Perfect, she thought.
She angled her phone’s camera to frame the shop’s warped doorway and hit record.
I slosh through a murky puddle and trudge over another mound of slushy snow, leaving my valenki darkened and damp. But chilled feet are the last of my worries. After all these hours of calling, of tramping through this stretch of Russian forest, I still haven’t found him.
“Father Frost!”
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I braced myself as the oversized Jeep conquered a particularly stubborn pothole. With eight of us crammed into three rows and no roof or doors on the vehicle, I worried I’d be jostled over the side.
My handkerchief slipped off my face,
I’m Frank Pepitone, from the Superhero Accountability Department. SAD is a subdepartment of the Preternatural Hero Force. If you find out you have superpowers one day, don’t hesitate to keep it to yourself.
The world needs more superhumans who mind their own business.
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“It’s that time again, isn’t it?” Melba’s smile was in place as always, but today there was a tinge of sadness to it.
Ellis nodded. “Afraid so. Closing Day.” He wore black on the day after Labor Day; he was in mourning, after all. Tourist season at the Sunray Inn had always been his happiest time,
Long ago in China, a boy named Yan ran as fast as he could, squinting against the westward sun as it cast shadows on the mountain path. A cry caught his attention. He looked up, seeing an old man perched on a rock and waving a tin cup.
“I’m thirsty,” the man said. “I cannot reach the stream below.
“Dougal wait! Yer da said we’re not supposed to play on Ben Binn. The fairies won’t like it!” Hamish sprinted after his cousin, the evening air nipping at his face.
“Don’t tell me ya believe in all that
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Rain pattered against the roof of the double-decker theatre. Inside, fairy lights twinkled like fireflies, woven between artificial leaves of the trees that made Toronto’s Winter Garden Theatre unique. It resembled a fairy tale—but only if the man in front of me was the villain.
“You’re
The best way to stop a museum heist is to get stolen yourself.
In the darkness of the shipping crate, I wait amid packing peanuts and the four-by-six oaken-framed masterpiece that da Vinci painted with his left hand while using his right for a certain other work.
A shaft of light pierces the gloom as a crowbar pries off one of the top slats,
With my American sense of direction and independence, I’d thought I could make it from my boarding house to the dreaming spires and spinning cogs of Oxford University without help. But I’d been wandering the crooked, twisting streets for hours now. A distant clock tower, hidden behind thick swathes of fog, struck noon with a melodic mix of bells and whistles.
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